


The Bet

by hclliish



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, except the other person is on it so it's cons all the way around, it's the betting on getting another character's number/virginity/making them fall in love trope, the only problem is they're all idiots so you can imagine how well that goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29639487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hclliish/pseuds/hclliish
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple wager. Get the phone number, prove he was the better flirt, split the cash.But when has anything in Crowley's life ever been that simple? And when the bet increases, how can refuse - especially when Aziraphale seems happy to help?Everything that happened from there on in was an act of fate.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Crowley & Hastur & Ligur (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device
Comments: 15
Kudos: 32





	1. And So It Begins

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dedicating this to friend M, who got me into this show and listened to me talk about this idea for so long when it first hit me, and has been waiting for me to post it since.

The Entire Affair had started, as they often do, rather simply. Just a little bet. What could be the harm?

Crowley had been at the pub, as he often was after a long day of classes, with Bee and Hastur (once again, as he often was). That night, after their usual rowdy discussions on basically anything and everything they could get their hands on, the conversation had turned to Hastur bragging about his skill at “seduction”. Or whatever he thought passed for seduction. 

“Yeah, Hastur, exactly how many times have these tactics worked for you?” Crowley asked after what had to be the worst example of a pick up line he’d ever heard, trying to decide if he needed another drink to get through this. 

He was pretty sure he did. 

“Right, because you’re the expert on flirting, aren’t you Crowley?” 

“Hastur, anything he did would be better than that,” Bee cut through, their voice dry. Apparently they liked the pick up line even less than Crowley had. Expected, but not easy. 

Still, Hastur was stuck on the subject. “Come on then, show us exactly what you’ve got. Show us exactly how good you are.”

“Hastur, you’re practically asking to be humiliated here, and I really do value our friendship too much to-”

“Five quid says you strike out.”

Oh. Well that made things a lot more interesting. Crowley leaned back in his chair, limbs hanging at intricate angles. “I’m listening.”

“Not much more, is there?”

Already, Crowley was looking around the bar, sizing up who was the most likely to be interested enough, or bored enough to give him their number when asked. “Well, alright then, I’ll just-”

“Hang on just a minute,” Bee cut in, earning a confused look from Hastur and a glare from Crowley. Not that they seemed to notice. Their eyes were glowing slightly, and clearly they’d been hooked in by the idea of the bet as well (Crowley wasn’t exactly sure that was a good thing). “I’ll add to the pot -” Crowley sat up - “but only if Hastur and I get to chose your target.”

Damn. There went some of his plans to find the most willing person possible. But he’d look chicken if he backed down from Bee’s part of the deal. “How much are you adding?” 

“I’ll add an extra five to the pot,” they told the table, sitting back in their chair and mimicking Crowley’s posture as best they could (it was difficult when Crowley, at the best of times, seemed barely constrained by things like limbs). 

“Extra five and the next round is on you,” Crowley countered.

“Oh really?”

“If you’re taking away my choice in who, the least you can do is buy me a pint when I win anyways. And besides, if I lose it’s on me.”

“I suppose that’s acceptable,” they agreed, nodding to the deal. 

Hastur just looked excited at the idea of not having to pay the next round. “I’ll take that alright.” 

“Then it’s done,” Crowley agreed, reaching over the table and past their pints to shake both of their hands. “Now, who exactly am I getting the number of?”

Bee and Hastur looked around the bar, leaning over to each other to whisper ideas, occasionally shaking their heads. Finally, the conference ended. 

“Blondie,” Bee told him, “behind you and to your left. The miserable looking one sitting with the law majors.” 

Crowley turned, looking in the direction that he’d been directed, and did in fact spot an, admittedly very cute, blonde man about their age, looking absolutely pained and miserable, listening to a stockier man at his table go on and on about something he very clearly did not give two shits about. He did not, however, quite give the impression of the kind of person who would just give their number out to lanky strangers at bars. 

He needed a plan.

\---

Aziraphale was having a terrible time. 

Why he’d allowed Gabriel to drag him out to the pub, he’d never know, except maybe for the promise of free alcohol. And fresh air. And because Gabriel hadn’t taken no for an answer and had practically dragged him away from his laptop and paper, out of the apartment, and down for drinks the moment Aziraphale had given him the slightest leeway. 

Okay so maybe he could think of a few reasons why. And the drinks weren’t bad. Listening to Gabriel and his friends in the law program talk about their classes and case work however, was the most boring thing in the world. He’d thought law was supposed to be exciting! Big cases and victories and yelling in court rooms - at least, that was always how it seemed on the tv, or in his books. Maybe it was because none of them had stepped foot in a proper courtroom yet, but it was like they were purposefully sucking any interest or fun out of what they were talking about. Or maybe it really was just that boring.  
And now, one of them was talking about their minor in accounting. Someone save him, he had no idea how Gabriel found these people interesting enough to spend time around. He also had no idea how he and Gabriel could be related. 

Needing any excuse, Aziraphale declared the next round was on him, and had to fight not to bolt from his chair to the counter. He ordered for the table, just going with whatever Michael had gotten them when it was her turn - they’d all seemed to like that - and paying. Hopefully the bartender would take pity and pour them slowly. 

“Now, what exactly are they talking about that’s got you so miserable looking?” 

Aziraphale turned, ready to brush off the stranger’s question, when he found himself face to face with frankly one of the most attractive men he’d ever seen. Refusing to be phased, Aziraphale just shook his head. “Accounting classes.” The face the redhead made was something between horrified and pitying, which really was the appropriate reaction if you asked Aziraphale. 

He was ready to check on his drinks, possibly excuse himself, when the redhead leaned in. “I have something that could make the night a little better,” he whispered, smirking down at him. Clearly, this man thought quite highly of himself. Aziraphale just quirked an eyebrow at him. 

After a moment, it became clear that he was waiting for Aziraphale to talk. “Well? Hurry up with it, I’m sure the pints for my table will be poured soon.” And he didn’t exactly want to keep the table waiting when they’d be able to see him standing there and being talked to while their drinks sat on the counter. 

“My table has a bet going - well, really I have a bet going against my table. My friend Hastur, the one with the atrocious tee-shirt, don’t look, thinks he’s the best flirt to ever be put on god's green earth, and he didn’t like when I challenged that.”

“Right,” said Aziraphale, who wasn’t quite sure what this had to do with him yet. 

“So we made this bet, ten quid and they buy the next round if I can get the number of someone they chose. Has to be the real number too, they want to check.”

“I’m still not -”

“And they picked you, so -”

“Me?” Aziraphale asked, looking legitimately shocked at the idea. All the people in the bar, and they’d decided on him? Was this some kind of joke. 

“Voice down,” the redhead hissed, glancing somewhere off in the distance - presumably to his table of friends. Aziraphale had spotted them when he’d come in with Gabriel, and he agreed, this man’s friend was wearing an almost painfully brightly coloured shirt. 

“So how exactly do you think telling me all this is going to help you?”  
“Simple. You give me your real phone number, and I’ll split the cash prize with you.” 

It certainly wasn’t a bad idea. “And what if I give you a fake number?”

“Well, they’ll want to call or text it and check. And then you won’t get your five pound share, and I’ll be out fifteen pounds and a round of drinks.” 

It wasn’t exactly the most flattering way to ask for someone’s number, but Aziraphale supposed he preferred being told outright that he was part of some strange bet than to be tricked into thinking someone wanted the number for real. And if he was honest with himself, this was the most interesting conversation he’d had all night - and despite the circumstance, he didn’t seem like an awful person. 

And at heart Aziraphale was, truly, a bit of a bastard. “Alright.” 

The man seemed almost surprised that he’d agreed. “Really?” 

“Yes really, now pass me your phone. I’m sure my table will be wondering where our drinks are by now.” He was vaguely aware of the drinks by his elbow and the bartender’s glances over at them. When the redhead pulled the phone from his pocket, Aziraphale quickly took it, typing his number into the new text screen. “What’s your name?” He asked, realizing that throughout all of this, neither of them had actually introduced themselves. 

“Crowley - Anthony, but most of my friends just call me Crowley. What’s yours then?”

“Zira,” he told him, handing the phone back, and picking up the tray for his table. “I’d best be getting back now.” Crowley nodded. 

“Same, I’ll text you to figure out how to get you your half of the bet.”

And with that Aziraphale was gone, back to his own table with a plate of drinks, instantly met with a chorus of ‘what took you so long?’. He couldn’t help but glance back, catching sight of Crowley as he weaved through people to get back to his own table.

\---

Crowley hadn’t actually expected that to work. He’d been sure the other man would tell him to fuck off, or that he wasn’t interested, and he’d be stuck paying out for the next round. But instead he returned to the table looking like the cat that had just gotten the canary. Apparently his friends couldn’t believe it either.

“There’s no way,” Bee muttered, taking the phone from Crowley’s hand and looking at the number. 

“How do we know it’s not a fake?” Hastur grumbled, determined to find some way out of his half of the bet. 

“Text him, see if you get a response. Prove it’s a real number,” Bee told him, clearly still not buying Crowley’s prowess. Sighing in fake annoyance, Crowley typed out and sent a quick text to Aziraphale.

> [Text: Z] Thanks for making my night 

The group watched, bated breath, to see if a wrong number text, or no existing notification would come through. Crowley didn’t breath himself until a minute later -

> [Text] I could say the same thing  
>  [Text] You’re the most interesting thing to happen all night  
> 

And so the smug grin returned, and Hastur and Bee sat back in annoyance. Crowley pocketed his phone, not about to let them snoop anymore. Bee got up, going to get them the next round.

Two hours later, and a few more rounds in, Hastur was back on the subject. “Sure, you got the number. Getting a number is easy. I doubt you could get much further in than that.”

Crowley stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what the idiot was playing at. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“I bet you couldn’t get him to sleep with you.” 

Crowley and Bee both stared at him. It took a bit to shock either of them, but they were both silent for a good moment. 

“Are you seriously trying to get me to bet whether or not I could sleep with him?” Crowley glanced around. The table he was at had been emptied and refilled ages ago. It wasn’t like the guy was here for him to have another crack at. 

“Don’t think you could?” 

“Hastur, I’m cutting you off for the night,” Bee cut in, clearly assuming he’d just had too much to drink. 

“What could you possibly offer that would be worth that kind of bet?” Crowley asked, still barely believing any of this. The question at all earned a sharp look from Bee. 

“Forty quid that you can’t.” 

“This is a ridiculous idea.” Crowley could be dastardly, but the idea of tricking someone like that made his skin crawl. And he wasn’t about to bet that much on something he could lose. 

“Think about it. Twenty four hours.” Hastur told him. 

“That’s it, you’re both cut off,” Bee cut in again, clearly done with this entire idea. And they were right, it was barely worth thinking about. It was a terrible idea.  
Unless. Maybe there was a way he could make it work. He let Bee usher him and Hastur out of the pub, and made his goodbyes, jumping on the tube to get back to his flat. Mulling the idea over in his mind. 

By the time he returned home, he was almost set on it. There was only one thing to do.

> [Text: Z] There’s been another bet suggested. Want to get lunch tomorrow?


	2. Wake Up Babe, New Bet Just Dropped (Or, A Plan is Formed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So. If your friend remembers this bet he made while drunk last night. And If he wants to still continue this idea while sober.” He could see Crowley leaning forward slightly, eager to know his answer. “Then I suppose it would be fun to pull one over on them.” He gave Crowley the slightest of smiles, taking a bite of his pastry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and keep updating the tags as I go, because I keep forgetting things that I have planned and then remembering I should probably add those before we get there.
> 
> Also I forgot to say this for the first chapter but this entire idea came about because I saw a post on tumblr that was like "if I got a bet to get someone's number I would simply tell that person and split the bet money" and I went hey what if that was a fanfic and it was these idiots
> 
> I'm still trying to figure out how to write notes, I have not posted fanfic since 2014 and the vibe was something else then.

Crowley woke up in the morning with a dull ache spreading through his head, and the vague feeling he might have done something embarrassing. So, really, just the average morning after a night out with Hastur and Beez. He was sure if he checked his phone, he’d sure he’d find a video, or a text or five from Bee, making fun of whatever stupid thing he’d done while drunk. 

Speaking of which, where was his phone? And what time was it? Forcing himself out of bed despite everything in him that begged to stay where it was warm and soft, it took a bit of searching before he found it, dead on the desk. He plugged it in, using the time between then and when it powered back on to splash some water in his face, grab some pain killers, and get started making some coffee. The damn thing must have really been dead. 

The moment it powered back on, it began to buzz with notifications. Apps reminding him to open them, spam emails that he could delete, and texts from Bee and Hastur - and one from Z. 

The bet. That’s what had slipped his mind. But not anymore - getting Zira’s number, Hastur challenging him to try and get Zira to sleep with him, his plan to try and get the bet money in the least creepy and shitty way possible. 

All of which hinged on Zira being open to the idea.

He waited until his coffee had finished brewing to actually open the text from Zira, not wanting to do any of this without at least a little caffeine in his system. Generally that was what allowed him to actually start functioning in the day. 

[Text] Another one? Is this a common part of your friendship or something?  
[Text] I suppose I could do lunch. Where are we going?

In all honesty, Crowley hadn’t thought this far ahead. Really he hadn’t thought at all about specifics, mostly just broad sweeping terms about getting Aziraphale on his side for the bet and then proving to Hastur that he was much better at this than him, and getting the money for them. All of which had been tinted by drunken grandeur. But now he was forcing himself to think of the details, trying to come up with somewhere for them to meet. He doubted Hastur would be out much today, but still, he didn’t want to risk going near somewhere he might be seen by his friends. If they saw, they’d know what he was up to. 

Finally he sent the name and address of a fairly nice coffee place that wasn’t too far from his apartment, but that he knew Hastur and Bee wouldn’t go anywhere near. Five minutes later, his phone buzzed again.

> [Text] Looks good! How does 1 pm sound? 

Crowley looked at the clock. That would give him a couple hours to sort himself out so he could actually go to this lunch and be convincing in front of Zira that this was a good idea. Or at least, that it would be fun. And he didn’t seem like the kind of person who got to have a lot of fun.

> [Text: Zira] See you then. 

Well. Now he had a few hours to kill. Time to figure out what to do until he had to get ready to go.

\---

Aziraphale wasn’t exactly sure why he’d agreed to this lunch at all. He didn’t owe Crowley a lunch, this was just some man he'd spoken to once at the bar. And it was about another bet - apparently this seemed to be a regular part of the friendship he had with his group. Should he be offended that they seemed to think of him as a good target? At least Crowley was being honest and transparent about it, which was very nice. Would the money be worth this?

(If Aziraphale was being honest with himself, he did have something of a bastardry streak, which would explain this - but he wasn’t about to admit it).

But at the very least he might get a new cafe out of this. If Crowley had any taste about these things. Hopefully he did. They’d see. 

Aziraphale puttered around getting work done until he realized it was getting close to time to leave, figuring he might as well put the time to use since he had it. 

Upon arriving at the coffee shop just a moment before one, Aziraphale had to admit the place seemed nice. And looking through the window it seemed Crowley was already there and holding a table for them. A check of his watch to make sure he wasn’t late - no, it was just one o’clock. Crowley must have been early. Well, Aziraphale could make him wait a moment longer, given that he could see Crowley had a mug of something in front of him, and the moment he stepped in the door he could smell some of the goods sitting in the glass counter. 

He arrived at the table a couple minutes later, mug and a pastry in hand. Crowley tucked away his phone as Aziraphale sat down. “I hope you’re feeling better after last night. I could see your table still drinking when I left.”

Crowley grinned at him. “Nothing a couple of painkillers and a coffee couldn’t fix. I’m glad to see they didn’t bore you to death.”

“No, I survived quite well. Even the lawyers get tired of hearing their own voices eventually.” Crowley snorted, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile a little. “You said something about another bet?”

“Oh - right, yes. The getting your number went over quite well, Hastur should be sending me the money for that soon, and I’ll send you your half. But after a couple more drinks, well after your lot had left for the night, he started in on it again. Tried to get me to bet on whether or not I could get you into bed.”

“You can’t be serious!” That was something he was sure only happened in horrible teen novels. No one really made bets like that, did they?

“He was very drunk. Honestly I don’t know if he’ll remember it now.”

“And this is the bet you text me about?”

“Exactly. Are you in?”

“I have the distinct feeling I should be offended.” Once again, he found himself wondering what exactly the impression he gave off was, that it made him the center for these games. 

“What - no, Zira, they just picked you because they thought the first one had worked. Listen. It’ll be twenty quid for both of us if we can convince him we’ve won.” 

“For a bet you don’t even know if he’ll remember. And how do you even know he’ll want to carry on with it when he wakes up and is significantly less drunk?” 

“Ahhh - he’s fairly competitive, as they go, I wouldn’t be surprised. But, if he says the bet is off, then the partnership is off, of course.”

“Of course.” So all of this relied on one of Crowley’s friends waking up and remembering the shitty, not to mention expensive, bet he’d made the night before, and wanting to follow through on it. The odds didn’t seem great. “And how exactly would you go about proving this to them, once it supposedly happens?”

“I hadn’t gotten that far in my planning yet. Figured I’d wait to see if you were up for it before I start coming up with schemes.” 

Aziraphale sighed, taking a sip of his tea. This place was good. He knew Crowley was staring at him, even as he was thinking and looking at his mug. “I don’t know about all of this.” 

“Come on, it’ll be fun. A bit of adventure, give you something to do outside of spending your time with those lawyer pricks.”

“I have plenty to do aside from that, thank you.” Well, he had enough. What he thought of as enough anyways. 

“Alright. But it would also be a little bit of revenge on my friends, for dragging you into their schemes.” Crowley did have a point there. A little revenge would be nice. And it would give him something to do - and maybe a friend from outside of his little circle. Crowley seemed nice enough, and they’d likely be spending time together to pull this off. 

“So. If your friend remembers this bet he made while drunk last night. And If he wants to still continue this idea while sober.” He could see Crowley leaning forward slightly, eager to know his answer. “Then I suppose it would be fun to pull one over on them.” He gave Crowley the slightest of smiles, taking a bite of his pastry. 

“It’s settled,” Crowley agreed, holding out a hand to shake, which Aziraphale took and shook firmly. “I’ll text you the minute I know, and we can start coming up with a plan.”

“So it is. That sounds like an excellent plan.” And they could get to know each other at the same time. They’d need to, for this plan to work. 

“I’d better go,” Crowley told him, downing the last of his coffee and rising from his chair. “I’ll text you the moment I’ve heard from Hastur. See you ‘round Zira.” And with that he was off. Aziraphale watched him leave, slowly sipping his tea. Well, whatever happened next, at least he’d found a nice new cafe to visit.

\---

Crowley, if he was being completely honest, had not expected that to go as well as it had. He had hoped Aziraphale would agree, but had been prepared to cut his losses and not take the bet and deal with some teasing for it. But Aziraphale had agreed, wholeheartedly. Clearly, he was more fun than Hastur and Bee gave him credit for. Speaking of which -

> [Text: Hastur] How’s your head?  
>  [Text: Hastur] Still remember the bet you tried to make last night?

The return text came a minute later.

> [Text Received - Hastur] Course I do  
>  [Text Received - Hastur] You made up your mind yet?

So he was still interested. Good. He switched contacts, figuring he should text Aziraphale before he forgot.

> [Text: Zira] The bet is on

He shoved his phone into his pocket, swapping it for his keys and letting himself back into his apartment. It took less than two minutes of him being in before his phone started buzzing.

> [Text Received - Zira] Time to start plotting!

And then the real culprit.

> [Text Received - Bee] Hastur just texted me  
>  [Text Received - Bee] Crowley  
>  [Text Received - Bee] Anthony J Crowley  
>  [Text Received - Bee] You cannot be serious  
>  [Text Received - Bee] This bet is a terrible idea, whether or not you win. Do NOT come crying to me when it blows up in your face

Well at least they all seemed to be buying that this was his idea and not catching onto the real plan.

> [Text: Zira] I have classes tomorrow afternoon. If youre not busy we can meet up afterwards to figure out a game plan. 

For now, he’d ignore Bee’s texts, he had other things he needed to get done for classes, given that he’d spent the first part of his day hung over and plotting against his friends. Which sounded a lot harsher and more dastardly than it really was, though he wouldn’t mind taking the chance to exaggerate.

> [Text Received - Zira] How about we grab dinner for one of our places and figure something out? 

Well, there was an idea.

> [Text: Zira] How very forward of you. Your place, I’ll bring chinese. I know a place. 

That was that settled. Now he really needed to work on his history paper. Time to crack down and actually get some writing done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't mean to keep ending these chapters with texts, it just kinda happened.

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a long time since I wrote and actually posted fanfiction, but I've had this idea sitting in the back of my head for a while, and so I've finally started to sit down and write it! I can't promise any kind of regular updates because I'm currently also trying to get through my fourth year of uni.


End file.
